Shades of the Past
by Don't Mess With Aria
Summary: After Shepard is lost, Garrus must deal with his grief and his unresolved feelings towards her. Takes place roughly between the events of ME1 and ME2. Rated T for some language and a mildly adult situation. Two parts.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Turians have dark blue blood. If there is an actual physiological response that causes humans to "see red" when enraged, then turians might see blue if a similar response exists.

Spectres are an elite group of soldiers with no oversight.

#

Garrus yawned as his slid into his desk. How was getting up for class so much different from getting up for battle? He was getting more sleep on this lazy student's schedule, but he was always tired when he had to force himself into the classroom to learn things he already knew. If the end goal was anything less than Spectre, he would have dropped it a dozen times already.

Other Spectre candidates shuffled in- mostly other spike-crested turians and the dusky blue asari, a few quick-talking salarians among them. None of them seemed particularly excited to be here, and Garrus realized it wasn't just him; the program, then, was doing a disservice to these future Spectres. Men and women of action, and their first steps in becoming a Spectre were the torturous, long sessions of book-work and essays, writing and reading and multiple choice, and why couldn't someone just be shooting at them, instead?

The sole human candidate, Nate, walked in with a turian, Jarex. They were deep in conversation as they grabbed seats behind Garrus.

"I didn't know her, but I'd heard things," Jarex was saying.

"Me, too," Nate replied. "Never met her, but everyone in the Alliance is pretty broken up."

That got Garrus's attention, although he couldn't say why. He felt uneasy and continued listening deliberately, instead of just overhearing.

"Yeah," Nate continued. "First one, too. I just can't believe that after everything else, it goes down like this. She's the reason I applied, you know."

_First one? Not the first human Spectre. Please, spirits, no._

"There's gonna be a big service on Mindoir, and another one on Akuze-"

"Oh, I remember Akuze- that was her as well?" Jarex asked.

_No, no, no._

"I hope they're planning ahead, though. I'm pretty sure that wherever they hold it, too many people will want to pay their respects to Commander Shepard."

For a brief moment, the world ended, shrouded in blackness. Then Garrus's vision cleared. He had gotten up and planted his hands on the human's desk.

"Commander Shepard isn't dead," he said quietly. Nate looked confused.

"No, she is. The news went out this morning."

"She isn't," Garrus insisted. "I would have heard." Would he have, though? The Alliance might consider that they didn't owe him anything; he was never enlisted with them.

_No, someone would have informed her whole crew. Anderson, at least; he wouldn't have let it go out through the Alliance before informing us._

"Oh, you served with her, right?" Nate asked. "Sorry, Vakarian. She died this morning. Ship was ambushed. Most of the crew made it out, but Shepard-"

"You're lying" he accused.

The human shifted back in his chair; Garrus towered over him normally, but right now Nate was sitting down, and even though he hadn't grown up watching turian faces, the rage on Garrus's was unmistakable.

"I'm sorry, man. I've heard she was a good Commander. But someone hit her ship this morning, and Shepard was reported KIA."

"You're lying," Garrus said again. His hand twitched, wanting to break this barefaced liar's jaw. How dare he even say her name with his vile mouth?

Jarex, the turian who had originally been talking with the human soldier, put a restraining hand on Garrus's wrist.

"Easy, Vakarian. No scaring the shrimpies. It's not his fault if your commander got herself killed."

Garrus saw blue. He didn't even bother pulling Jarex out of his desk/chair combo; he just tackled him in it. Garrus paid no mind to technique, either, instead just hitting him over and over again. He wasn't even paying attention to where the blows landed; more than once, he hit the desk itself, sending pieces flying.

After a moment of stunned inaction, other Spectre candidates moved in to pull Garrus off Jarex. Someone helped him up while several turians struggled to keep Garrus contained.

"What's your fucking problem, Vakarian?" Jarex shouted. People were holding him back, as well. A turian fight was no joke.

Garrus looked toward the human, Nate. He saw no smugness there, no gloating. There was concern that an enraged turian might be about to rip him to shreds, but there was nothing that indicated he was lying.

"Let me go, I'm leaving," Garrus snarled. The other turians dropped his arms, but stayed tense in case he attacked again. Garrus didn't care to. He stormed through them and towards the door.

"What the hell is going on here?" the instructor asked, entering the classroom just as Garrus was leaving it. Garrus put out an arm and slammed him to the wall without breaking stride.

_Excellent job, Vakarian. Other than ruining your career, did you have a goal in mind with this?_

Garrus needed to get somewhere quiet. He needed to make a call. He paused briefly, realizing he didn't even know _who_ to try to call.

_Anderson has an office here, now. He'll know. _He turned his steps toward the Presidium. In a few minutes, people would be explaining that it had all been a huge mistake. There was no way that Commander Shepard, Hero of the Citadel, could be dead.

#

Councilor Anderson was in his office, and his face fell when Garrus entered, charging right past the secretary. Garrus saw on the man's face the thing he most wanted not to know. A different man might have left, then; fled, if he had to, to keep the knowledge from himself. Garrus pressed forward, instead.

"Tell me it isn't true, Anderson."

"I'm sorry, Vakarian. I've been trying to contact all of you."

"What happened?"

"We're not sure. Joker made his report, but all he knows is that there was a ship waiting for the _Normandy_, that it had no problems seeing through the stealth drive, and that it ripped through the ship like it was tinfoil."

"Joker survived. Shepard did, too. Another pod? Did you scour the area?"

"I'm sorry," Anderson repeated. "Joker saw her die himself. She's gone."

Garrus left. Behind him, Anderson was trying to tell him about a memorial service, trying to tell him to wait and talk to Joker when he got in. Garrus didn't care. He wanted a drink, and he wanted his bed, in that order.

#

At home in his cramped apartment, Garrus reached his talon out toward the holo on his desk. He wouldn't have a holo at all, but Tali had gotten it in her head that she needed something to remember them all by. She was headed back to the Migrant Fleet, after all, and would probably never be able to see any of them again. She'd given a copy to the entire ground crew: Garrus, Wrex, Liara, Kaidan, and of course, Shepard. Garrus noticed then that Joker was in the holo; he must have gotten one, too.

The only person of interest in it, though, was Shepard. She stood in the middle, the unstoppable force which had brought them all together and made them a crew. It had been almost immediately after their final battle at the Citadel- Tali had been insistent- so Shepard's red curls had been falling out of their habitual confinement. Shepard was laughing; he remembered that he had said something funny, and she had turned toward him, surprised and laughing at just the moment the holo had captured forever. Garrus remembered, also, that it had been the first time he had heard her really laugh, and the sound had been almost indescribably beautiful to him. Not just for the sound itself, although she did have a rich laugh, weighted with promises that would go unfulfilled. It was the relief in it, the lack of the heavy weight that rested so permanently on her shoulders. Had he been in love with her the whole time? He respected her, yes; admired her, even. Hell, he'd be willing to admit to inappropriate infatuation with a commanding officer- but love?

_Yes,_ he finally admitted, too late for it to make a difference. In the holo she leaned on Tali and Liara. Garrus's longer arm reached past Tali to rest on Shepard's shoulder, and he couldn't fail to see the significance. He was touching her; she was never touching him. Always, she would be frozen in this one holo, within reach yet somehow unattainable. Garrus sank to the floor, cradling the holo, and tortured himself with thoughts of what he could have done differently. Thinking of how he could have changed it so that he wasn't left holding just a hologram of the woman he loved.

#

The next few days saw Garrus in mourning. He had run out and purchased half a liquor store, then holed up in his tiny apartment trying to drink it. He drank, and stared at the holo of his Shepard. He drank, and railed obscenities at the news nets. He drank, and dreamed of Shepard alive, Shepard laughing. And he drank.

After a few days- Garrus would never be sure exactly how many- he finally got up and put some food in his system. He didn't taste it, but his body was rebelling against the drink and wouldn't take any more until he had fed it. While he waited for it to be drinking time again, he checked his messages. An instructor assured him that he could resume Spectre training, or enroll in the next class in a few months; he just had to apologize. Anderson wanted to talk to him, to make sure he was all right, and you're taking this kind of hard, Vakarian. Tali had left a message wanting to talk about Shepard, and when he heard that one, Garrus deleted all of them without listening further. He would go out today, he decided. He would go out, grab something hot to eat, and find a holovid to watch at home. He would eat, and watch his vid, and get some real sleep, instead of passing out from drinking. No part of what he was doing would impress Shepard, anyway.

_You can't impress her, she's gone._

_I don't care. You mind your business._

Garrus put some serious consideration into going out as he was, but came to the conclusion that new clothes and eliminating the booze smell were the minimum required to actually get service anywhere.

#

Skipping his breakfast drink had been a good idea. Despite the pitiful meal he had forced on himself at home, his appetite roared to life as he walked through the wards. He stopped at three different places based on smell alone, eating most of two meals and having them package up the rest for later. It was in the video store, while he was browsing classic human cinema- and wasn't that a terrible idea? he wondered- that he saw her. A flash of red hair that exited the store before he could get a good look. He dropped his bag of food and the vid he was holding to chase after her. The salarian clerk yelled at him- quickly, of course- but Garrus ignored him.

Out on the street, he had to look around before spotting her. The crowds were insane, and Garrus had to push people out of his way to try to follow that red hair. Nothing deterred him, though, and he followed her all the way to Purgatory, where she disappeared into the club.

Garrus pushed his way into the club, as well, and then had to stop to scan the crowd. The streets outside had been nothing compared to the club. Everywhere, bodies were packed against each other, moving in a primal beat that meant sex but that they called "dancing." Finally, he spotted her in the middle of the dance floor, and began to make his way through the crowd. It was slower going than outside; push too hard in the clubs, and the bouncers would find you and toss you.

When he reached her, he thought the relief might kill him. He touched her shoulder.

"Shep-"

"_What?"_ the woman demanded, turning around. She wasn't Shepard; didn't even look like her. She wasn't tall enough, not pretty enough. Her hair didn't even have the right kind of curl.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Well, go be sorry somewhere else, you creep." Garrus stumbled back, away from the false Shepard. He ended up at the bar.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked him.

_May as well._ He ordered "something strong" and waited for the bartender to bring it. At the end of the bar, a female turian caught his eye, then quite deliberately jerked her chin at him.

_Well, why not?_ At least it would be something to keep his mind off Shepard. He slowly nodded his head to her, and she smiled. The woman started making her way toward the exit; Garrus waited only for his drink then gulped it down so he could meet her outside.

"You got a room?" she asked when he had caught up.

"I'll get one," he answered. He could have taken her home, but he didn't think he'd bothered to pick anything up in the last however-many days. Besides, he didn't even want her in the same room as his holo of Shepard.

#

"Cheap," she commented on his choice of room.

"If you don't like it, you go get a nicer one," Garrus replied, sitting on the bed to start undressing.

"You don't want to know my name?" she asked.

"I don't care."

She didn't seem to mind this at all; unsurprising, considering how turian bar hookups worked. She moved to Garrus and started helping him undress. Garrus closed his eyes, so he could pretend he was with her, instead.

_That's not right. Shepard had more fingers than that,_ he thought as the nameless turian touched his chest.

_Shepard wouldn't be nearly so heavy, if she pushed me down and climbed on top of me. And besides-_

"Ow!"

"What's wrong?" she asked. Garrus put his hand up to his throat where she had bit him; it came away bloody.

_Shepard's tiny, ineffectual teeth could never do this kind of damage._

"Get off me," he said, pushing the turian away. She thought they were still playing, and pounced on him.

"I said, get the fuck away," he yelled, pushing her harder. She landed on her backside on the floor, snarling.

_Fine, you want to fight? Fight's better right now._

Whether she didn't want to fight or just saw the warning in his eyes, she decided not to. She straightened her clothes and headed for the door.

"Spineless," she spat at him before slamming it.

_Spineless,_ he thought, laying back on the bed. _Yes; without spines. I am naked and fleshy and soft, like a human._ Had he been a human, things with Shepard might have gone differently. Being a turian didn't make things impossible, but then there were so many extra things to worry about before you could even get to being with a human.

_You're barely a turian anyway. Even the whore noticed. Spineless._ Garrus sighed. Spineless, in both the turian and human meanings.

He'd already paid for the room, but his holo of Shepard was back at home.

_If you stay here, you have nothing to drink. You can wake up sober, and go apologize to your instructor tomorrow. Become a Spectre, and show your respects to Shepard without shaming her._

It was a good argument; unfortunately, the counter-argument was, "or you could drink," and that one was just so much better.

#

Weeks passed in a drunken haze. Garrus went out rarely to restock; each time, he saw Shepard at a distance and chased her down before realizing it wasn't her. Sometimes, the hair was right, but the build was different. Other times, the figure was Shepard's, but the hair turned out to be wrong. On one particularly cruel occasion, both hair and body were almost identical, but upon reaching her, the face was too strange. Garrus went out only when necessary.

People started coming by, instead of calling. Classmates, old friends from C-sec, instructors. Jarex wanted him to know that the human he'd almost assaulted had dropped the training. Well, that wasn't fair. Nate had been borderline on the classwork, and barely passed the physical requirements each week. If he finally realized he wasn't cut out to be a Spectre, how could that be laid at Garrus's feet? The instructors wanted him to know he could come back any time, not even mentioning the requirement that he be repentant. His friends wanted him to come out, have a drink; come out, see a vid; come out, come out, come out.

Just no. He wasn't interested.

The final straw was when Anderson came by. Everyone was going to be at the service, he'd explained through the door, and they would be disappointed if he didn't show.

_Service? I don't think so._ Everyone would be there. They might expect they could lean on him; he was barely holding together, himself. Tali would cry; did quarians cry like humans did? Humans sometimes fogged up their helmets; Tali could never remove her mask-

_Focus. Funeral._ Liara would be there, and did he really want to deal with that? Liara had been almost his opposite. The young asari had developed a burning infatuation with Shepard and thought it was love; Garrus had been in love and dismissed it as mere infatuation. Would he really be able to listen to her go on and on about how her Shepard was gone, and nothing would ever be the same?

_My Shepard._ Garrus didn't understand how he could be so possessive of her so quickly, but there was no point arguing with himself. Perhaps it was that he had assumed there would be time; he was going to come back as a Spectre, and of course Shepard would be there, wasn't she immortal? Learning that she wasn't had made him rethink his feelings for her.

_Focus._

The funeral. Everyone was coming. Here, on the Citadel.

In the hall, Anderson pounded on the door.

"Can you hear me in there, Vakarian?"

_Don't answer. He'll leave. You won't have to go._

_Spineless,_ he told himself. On the other side of the door, Anderson had given up. Almost.

"I really expected better from you, Vakarian," he said quietly.

_You had no right to._

Garrus wondered if all of Shepard's old crew would just accept that he wasn't coming to the service; probably not.

_Leave, then._

Yes, good. Leave the Citadel. He wasn't going to that funeral, but people would keep trying to harass him until he did. Besides, everywhere on the Citadel were ghosts of Shepard, shades of the past. He needed somewhere that he could drink without concerned friends bothering him, somewhere he could disappear and not come back.

Somewhere where dead Shepard couldn't find him anymore.

_Omega,_ he thought. Perfect. Omega was filthy, and crime-ridden, and someone could die on the street and people would just step around him. Plus, he didn't think there were too many humans there; fewer faces that could pretend to be Shepard for just long enough to hurt him.

_Omega it is._ Thus decided, Garrus gathered his few possessions into a bag. The military had trained him to travel light, and he hadn't really bought anything for the place, so there was nothing he was leaving that he would miss.

_Coward,_ he told himself. Yes, fine. Coward. Spineless. He didn't care. If he wanted to sneak away so he could drink in peace, he would. He had his hologram of Shepard tucked into his bag, and an infinite supply of drink and privacy ahead of him on Omega. He was done here.

#

_Conclusion to follow_


	2. Chapter 2

Omega agreed with Garrus. He didn't know a soul there, no one cared that was drinking, and he hadn't seen a dead Shepard since his arrival.

It was as filthy as he remembered. Trash littered the streets- both actual refuse and the living, breathing kind. Half of the people seemed to be walking around in gang armor of some kind. Blue Suns, Blood Pack, Eclipse. The half not associated with the mercenary gangs seemed to live in a low-grade terror. Turians called it "the world without law," for good reason.

All the races were represented here, much like on the Citadel. There were fewer humans here but more vorcha. On one of his drunkabouts, Garrus realized that the vorcha looked like turians might, if you first smashed a turian down to half-size and then shook him hard until the crazy just started to foam out. The thought struck him as funny enough that he had to turn around and put some distance between himself and the vorcha in question to keep from laughing in his face. The last thing he needed was an all-out war with the vorcha. Besides, it would cut into his drinking time.

Months passed as he fell into a comfortable routine of drinking, thinking about Shepard, and swearing at the news-nets. Her funeral had been televised. Closed casket, of course, since they had never recovered a body.

_Maybe she's still out there, then._ He wanted to believe it, but couldn't quite. After a while, he had to stop watching the news at all. Immediately following their mission, they had been hailed as the team that killed a Reaper. Then, people slowly started to forget that there had been a Reaper- and by forget, Garrus meant "lie barefaced." Now that Shepard was dead and no one was left to gainsay them, the people in charge had decided there was no such thing as a Reaper at all. They had been put back into their place as folklore used to scare children; only a few people in the galaxy remembered that they were still coming, and everyone was going to die. One of them was on Omega, trying to pretend it didn't matter.

One night walking home from the bar, Garrus realized he didn't feel so bad as he had before. Might be able to go back to real life, at some point.

And then he saw her. A turian in Blue Suns armor was threatening a redheaded human. Garrus watched, breathless. In a moment, Shepard was going to make him regret touching her, let alone shaking her by the arm like a ragdoll.

Any minute now.

Garrus waited for Shepard to act, until the turian drew a gun. Garrus flew toward him, slamming him into the wall. The mercenary's gun went skittering away across the floor, and this being Omega, someone promptly grabbed it and disappeared. Garrus had already knocked the mercenary down, but kept hitting him until he'd been pushed off. Garrus staggered, nearly fell. Months of drinking without remembering when he'd last eaten were catching up to him, but he still had a gun. He drew on the other turian.

"You leave. Leave now, and never come near her again."

The Blue Suns merc evaluated him, judging the distance between himself and the gun held in Garrus's trembling arm. Mercenaries weren't always known for bravery; the other turian backed off.

_And she was just hiding here on Omega the whole time,_ he marveled. When he finally looked at her face, though, he felt the all-too-familiar despair that the deadSheps always brought. It wasn't her, again. It would never be her, because she was gone.

The woman praised him effusively; called him an angel, among many other things that fell on a hollow heart. He gently moved her out of his way and walked on.

_This is unsustainable._ Yes, it was. The deadSheps had found him again, somehow. His body had been starting to process the intoxicants he kept giving it more efficiently. Already, he was barely drunk; he was eventually going to run out of money if he kept drinking it away.

_What, then?_ He couldn't go back to the Citadel. He couldn't stay here, if Shepard might appear around any corner. He was sure no other planet would be safe from her, either. What did that leave, then? The Reapers were coming, anyway, weren't they? Wouldn't they all be dead soon enough? If he was going to be dead in a couple months regardless-

_No._ Not an option. Then what?

_Pissed-off mercenary._ Yes, that might work. Go get the mercenary. The merc had already seen Garrus's face paint; if Garrus didn't go looking for him, the mercenary would just come for him. Probably with a group of friends.

_And if his friends are with him now, you can take them all on._ Yes. Death or glory. If he kept at it long enough, they were bound to kill him eventually. And if they didn't, he'd have cleared all crime off this filthy rock. Either way was good.

Garrus tracked the mercenary from the place he had seen him disappear. He knew vaguely which areas belong to the Suns, and he moved deeper into their territory, snooping around. The neighborhoods got sleazier, and foot traffic all but ceased. A few blocks away from what he knew to be the Suns' main base, the mercenary ambushed him.

That did not go as the mercenary had planned. Garrus left the body sprawled in the hallway, but not before relieving it of all its weapons and ammo.

_Going to need those._ He waited, hoping the rest of the group would come out, but it remained quiet. He decided to go home. Tomorrow, he could start harassing the merc groups in earnest.

Garrus had enough of his training left to go home by back ways, doubling over his path to make sure no one was following. No reason to get killed in the night; may as well take as many with him as he could. He didn't drink as much that night as he was used to.

#

_Killing mercs is fun._ Surprising himself, Garrus survived several clumsy assaults on various mercenary bases. He interrupted drug sales. He freed slaves from their traders. He killed any merc he found alone. And more surprisingly, he gathered followers.

The first person to join was a salarian bombs expert. He had been kept, who knows how long, by Eclipse, chained to a wall and making bombs for them. Garrus freed him, but the salarian had remained glued to him. After a time, Garrus stopped trying to get him to leave him alone. Didn't talk much; all Garrus ever heard from him was, "Big boom." He seemed to enjoy making bombs, so he kept doing that.

A batarian joined after that; "Hear you've been taking on the Suns." And that was that. More people kept finding them, until they had to clear out a decent base, taking it from Blood Pack, and settle in. Garrus's crew swelled to twelve members, including a turian named Sidonis who was like a brother to him. They ran most operations on a six-man team, leaving six at the base. A well-trained six-man crew was more than a match for disorganized mercenaries. Half the time, if you took out the mercenary giving orders, the rest couldn't figure out what to do. Garrus taught his men to watch for the tiny head-tilt that indicated someone was thinking or talking instead of fighting; usually, that was the one to take out. Garrus started drinking less and less, until he was down to a soft buzz most of the time. DeadSheps stopped showing up everywhere, and Garrus considered himself more or less content.

Until.

Garrus had been hearing whispers for a while. Some kind of big plan for him, it seemed. Garrus was fine with that. Let them try.

But they had gotten Sidonis instead. When they called Garrus and made Sidonis sceram over and over again over the connection, Garrus was unable to stop himself from bolting straight into danger the second they had given him the location. He did not take the time to bring anyone with him; a single second more might be too late.

_They'll want a trade,_ he reasoned. _Him for me, and then the others will disband. Like I was never here._ He sang a turian battle-song to himself, preparing for death as he approached the address he had been given. It was one of the warehouses they had hit early on.

And it was empty.

_Almost empty, that is._ Garrus spotted a two-way radio on the ground. He knew he didn't want to check, but he had to. He clicked to speak to whoever was connected.

"Who's there?" he asked. In response, gunfire.

"Nobody, anymore," a batarian voice laughed. Garrus dropped the radio and sprinted for the base. The voice on the radio had not been exaggerating. The ten bodies of his crew were laid out in straight lines. Only Sidonis was missing. Garrus's first instinct was to wipe all the mercs out, but there were too many there. If he died now, what would happen to Sidonis? Where had they taken him? He took out as many as he could and then fled.

#

"Where was Sidonis?" was a question so obvious, that at first Garrus didn't even think about it. He resumed his attacks on the mercenaries, hitting them harder and more frequently than before, expecting to find him at one of their bases. There was no sign of him. Frustrated with weeks of nothing, Garrus fell back on his old C-sec training; maybe they had taken him somewhere else.

The evidence made him wish he hadn't looked. Sidonis had moved all his money and bought passage off of Omega himself. He was a traitor, not a honey-pot. He had been paid to ensure that the rest of Garrus's crew dies.

_You die, too, Sidonis, _he promised. It was going to be a difficult promise to keep. He could no longer move openly; the gangs were everywhere. He would never be able to just catch a shuttle off-world. Then there was something else strange; Blue Suns and Blood Pack and Eclipse were mingling freely. Something big must be going on.

Garrus started eavesdropping on their chatter when he could, and was stunned to learn that it was him. All three mercenary groups had banded together just for him.

There was nowhere to hide, and no way to leave Omega. He holed up in the old base, trying to reinforce everything he could before they got to him. He had a couple days, if the chatter was correct. Not enough time. He took all of Big Boom's finished work and started wiring the entire lower floor; at least they wouldn't make it through unscathed.

The morning they were set to attack him, Garrus looked around at his handiwork. He had done all he could. There was one small bit of unfinished business. He pulled the vidscreen close to him and dialed out.

"Hello?"

"Dad? I've fucked up bad."

#

They talked for a while, until Garrus could see the mercenaries gathering at the other end of his bridge. He would have to pick them off as they crossed; it was the only bottle-neck he could use.

"Dad, I have to go now. It looks like-"

_It can't be._

A familiar figure stood poised at the edge of the bridge. She was clearly not in command of the other mercenaries, but she didn't look like she was taking orders. And the red stripe running down her shoulder….

"Dad, I'll call back. Looks like the odds just got a hell of a lot better."

Garrus tapped into their communications, going through channels until he could hear her in his helmet, and it was _her,_ it was his Shepard, and he had seen her so many times, but not one of the deadSheps had ever dared imitate her voice-

"Nice work, Commmander," he said as she took down a mercenary. For a moment, he just watched them work. He had almost forgotten how she moved in battle; violent, graceful. A dance with death.

"Wait," he called out over the open line. "Watch for tripwires." The figure nodded, and they started back up again. Already they had taken out the entire group in front of them; now they were hurrying across before the next wave showed up. Garrus watched them on his screens, calling out directions so they could avoid all the traps.

_I was drinking pretty heavily when I set those… I hope I don't miss any…._

Garrus needn't have worried; Shepard's tech skills were on par with his own. Several times, she stopped her team from walking into a trap he had forgotten about.

Then, she was here, taking off her helmet, and she was Shepard and she was whole-

"You Archangel?" she asked.

_And brusque, _he thought wryly._ Still Shepard._

"Well, I suppose some people are calling me that." He removed his helmet, letting it drop. "Although, some people know me by my given name."

"Garrus, what are you- How did-"

"Now what kind of greeting is that for an old friend?" he asked.

Then Shepard was in his arms hugging him, and he promised himself to never let her go again.


End file.
